Revelation
by Dom186
Summary: Dexter's Dark Passenger is discovered by his sister, leading him to reflect on the many facets of one Debra Morgan. Spoilers for all Seasons.
1. Chapter 1

Disclaimer: I don't own anything

I slightly changed the ending of this chapter so that it flows better into the second one. Enjoy

« Maybe everything is as it should be »

I take a breath, steady my hands on my trusted blade, and stab Travis in a smooth movement, puncturing his left ventricle. I hear a gasp, I look up.

The next moment would be carved into my memory forever.

And, like every defining moment in my life, it's filled with blood, from Travis's slowly leaking on the plastic sheeting I carefully laid out, to the blood draining from my sister's face as it becomes ashen white, and of course my own, pumping adrenalin like liquid fire in my veins.

I knew then that Debra's face would join my mother's, and Rita's, in that part of my soul that transcends good and bad, life and death.

That I could be remade or broken, in this instant, but that I would be forever changed.

I could see Deb's face clearly, even from across the darkened church, every line, every imperfection was in sharp relief , from the curve of her mouth, to the nape of her neck, all the way up to her eyes, her eyes…

All my senses were in overdrive, as they always were in those glorious moments when I take a life. I could smell the dust, and mould coming from the dilapidated building, the outside brought with it the smell of the sea and the sound of a passing ambulance, my mouth tastes like ash, and my skin is both frozen and on fire.

And underneath it all is my old companion, the blood. I can smell the faintly sweet scent it has when it's just been spilled, I can hear it dribbling on the floor, I can feel it running down my hands, I swear I could even taste it's copperish quality on my tongue.

I felt overwhelmed, both the incredible high of killing, and the absolute horror of having my Dark Passenger displayed in front of my sister's eyes , coalesced into a single outburst.

« Oh God »

Travis had been right, the world, my world, had ended tonight.

Lending credence to my theory that irony was the only true higher power, and that we were all it's victim's, myself most of all it seems.

« De… »

I can't bring myself to say her name, it seems disrespectful somehow in these circumstances.

As I look back into my sister's eyes, I feel the strangest sense of connection, it's as if we are both being shattered in the exact same moment. And despite the cold that's starting to seep into my bones, and the whispers in my head that have reawakened, I have never felt so closely connected to a human being.

Standing in front of me, is the first and only person in the world to, as of this moment, have seen every facet of Dearly Deranged Dexter, son, father, brother, and now serial killer.

And that person is Debra Morgan, my emotional , foul-mouthed, beautiful foster sister.

I realize that everything is, indeed, as it should be.

My recent forays into theology have convinced me that despite my Dark Passenger I still have some light in me, that I would be judged not only for the evil I've done, but also for the good. But it would not be some imagined father figure that would judge me ( I already had enough of those), no it would be her.

I would tell my sister everything, and let her be my judge.

I slowly laid my knife on the table, and stepped in front of Travis's body in some vain attempt to spare my sister the gruesome details ( my Dark Passenger suddenly worried about the logistics for the disposal of the garbage, but I pushed him to the back of my mind). I take a single slow step towards, and she recoils as if burned.

« No! Stay… Stay away… »

Those two words cut me like a scalpel, my mind, alight with blood, immediately goes back to Harry, and Sergeant Doakes , the last two cops to have seen my Dark Passenger in action.

The high of killing, the sense of completeness, of connection, leaves me instantly, and the only thing left is cold and the scent of blood.

I stop, the darkness recedes, and all that's left is her face, from which I can't look away.

The myriad of emotions, all of them too fast and too complex for me to have any hope of understanding, that seems to go through her is, as always, staggering. Yet one that is absent is the look of adoration, of love, that was always there when she looked at me, I only notice it now that it's replaced with what I assume is horror, and something else.

The ending of a life, especially if that ending is brutal, deliberate, and done in cold blood, always awakens something powerful in people. In regular human beings, it seems to resonate with some primal fear and disgust that forces them to _stay _as far _away_ as possible. Of course for me, it awakens something entirely different.

She sinks to her knees.

« De… »

Once again I try to say her name, once again I can't. I sink to my knees as well. And once again, I can't help but notice the irony of me and my sister kneeling in a church, Travis's rapidly cooling body behind us, his precious Saviour above us.

She begins to hyperventilate, and her eyes still haven't left me.

Stuck in that surreal moment, I think back on my time with my sister over the years. She had been my only constant, since beginning my life as a Morgan. The Ying to my Yang, the light to my darkness . The one person who had always loved me. She had kept me tethered to my tenuous humanity many times.

After Harry's death I had given serious consideration to leaving Miami, feeling the need to be free of his shadow and the heaviness of the lie that for many years I believed I had kept up only for his benefit. I had thought of starting somewhere new, alone, unencumbered, only my Dark Passenger for company, but it had been the thought of leaving sweet little Debra (as she still was then) all alone, so fragile in her grief, that had kept me in Miami, and on the path Harry set for me.

It was the thought of killing her that kept me from joining my brother Brian in a rampage that would have petrified America with terror, under the assault of two masters of their craft, both completely free. My blood brother had chosen his victim well in Debra, he had seen my life clearly, far more than I, and he had known that she was the one person that prevented me from being him. Unfortunately for him, she was also the one person I could never kill, no matter the temptation. And the temptation was strong, I had wanted to know Brian, and to be known by him almost more than anything, I had never felt more connected to anybody at that point, and more than that I wanted what he had, the freedom from Harry, the Code, the lie, the mass of drones constantly swarming all around me, it called to some deep part of me.

But as I'd held the knife in my hand, my Dark Passenger in full control, having succumbed to the whisperings of my brother, I had what alcoholics refer to as « a moment of clarity » , and I saw the two paths stretching out in front of me, and I knew that the one without her in it was one I could never take.

It was also her who helped me through my darkest hour during the Bay Harbor Butcher investigation, when I had contemplated turning myself in.

« Fuck! »

Startled out of my musings, my eyes refocus and I can see that Deb is now on her feet, looking a little more in control with her hand wrapped on the handle of her gun.

« Debra… » I answer, still at a complete loss over what to say, but now able to pronounce her name.

« Dex, what the fuck… »

And that says it all, now doesn't it? I almost crack a smile.

« Deb… relax your breathing or you're gonna pass out » I tell her, as I can see she has begun to sway a little.

« Don't! Just don't ! » But she takes my advice anyway, and seems to relax a little, her hand doesn't leave her weapon though.

« Dex, tell me there is an explanation for this…please » she pleads in a small voice.

And for a second I wonder, denial is a powerful emotion, especially within debra, it's practically her default mode for dealing with anything she doesn't like. This particular trait of my sister's has served me well over the years, overriding everyone of her finely tuned cop instincts, to the point where I was firmly convinced that the only way she would ever conceive of me doing something bad, would be to find me…in the exact position I am now.

But maybe it goes even beyond that, if I told her that Travis was my one and only victim, killed to protect her beloved nephew, I knew that she would grab onto it like a drowning man, and might just ignore everything else ( i.e., every thing in her life that would make sense if one just added to the equation : Dexter Morgan, Serial Killer).

Yet, I find that the idea of her knowing only half my secret doesn't sit right with me, for some reason…

« SAY SOMETHING! »

I jerk up. Ah, lost in my thoughts again, I'm strangely contemplative given the situation.

I stand up, and walk sedately to the small table wrapped in plastic upon wich my tools are laid out, decision made.

« There is, an explanation, and I will give it you…but I'm afraid you won't like it »

I slowly lift my hand in front of me, between my fingers is the eternal resting place of one Travis Marshall.

I look at my sister through the blood, she's never looked so beautiful.

I slowly lower it and look at my sister once more.

I give her a smile, my true one, it's a little dark, and a little predatory, but it's honest.


	2. Chapter 2

Disclaimer: I don't own anything.

This is the moment, I realize, the moment I'd dreaded and hoped for in equal measure, the great unveiling.

So, I can only watch in marvel as her face goes through a dozen expressions in a second, only to settle in a strangely blank stare.

I try to emphasise with what she must be going through (not my strong point I know) , but I find myself fascinated by her ever changing expressions, the only signs that her world has been tilted on its axis, that the foundations upon which she had based her entire life were crumbling, that her entire thought pattern was being rewritten, I was watching a form of paradigm shift I realized, and I was captivated.

Right now, random bits and pieces of information were being fired into her skull by a billion synapses lighting up at once. Dozens of overheard conversations , half-formed ideas ,and forgotten facts were rushing into her

She had already been following the bloody trail I had left behind me since I was taken from that shipping container all those years ago, like Hansel and Gretel following the Big Bad Wolf into his den, she had been picking up clues one by one.

And then, like a grisly game of connect the dots, the _tableau _becomes clearer, every connection slowly revealing the true visage of Demonic Dexter.

« No,no,no,no… »

Huh, denial, not like I didn't expect it, maybe I shouldn't have smiled, it's probably one of those social faux pas I keep making. I expect a real person would have known better than to smile's at one's sister in the moment when she discovers one is a serial killer.

« Dad… » she whimpers in a broken voice.

Harry. Ah, that makes more sense. I suddenly remember my father's last words, and I know she does as well.

_Once I'm gone, I won't be there to stop you. You'll need to do it._

It's the final nail, she breaks down crying, and my atrophied heart breaks just a little.

I'm reminded of a cabin deep in the Everglades, and of my own loss faith in Harry. I remember the feeling of having the earth shift beneath my feet and of free falling, as if from a great height, knowing there is no one there to catch you.

I wonder if she will be reborn from the ashes of Harry's memory, like I was, or if she will be consumed by it.

Because, for all the pain and confusion I felt at that moment, I know it's a thousand times worse for my over emotional little sister.

The both of us had shaped ourselves around him completely, and while I doubted that Deb talked to him in her head like I did, his influence on her life had been and still was, almost absolute.

My adoptive father had been a force of nature, a character so overwhelming that you couldn't help but be swept up by it, and, years after his death his presence was still keenly felt by his two children.

The introduction of the cancerous concept of _Dexter the killer_ into her mind tainted Harry by association, along with probably her entire childhood.

This might be a bit harder than I thought.

« You lied…both of you… about everything… »

Tears are still streaming down her face, but her gaze has turned into cold steel, it turns me on just a little bit.

« EVERYTHING WAS A LIE! »

The words are torn from her throat as if from a primal force, and stay ringing in my hears for a few seconds afterwards thanks to the echoes in the small church.

I'd expected it, and had steeled myself, but I still shook a little. This was about trust, I knew.

Above murders, and blood and morality, what hurt her the most was that she had trusted me more than she had trusted herself, but I hadn't, and neither had Harry.

Since the incident with my brother and even before that, trust and truth were two of Deb's most prized values. She craved and protected the first, and sought out and glorified the second.

While lying had always been second nature to me, I had learned from various experience's with Rita and Deb, that it was a considered a grave and unforgivable offence to lie to someone that trusts you. She was probably coming to terms with the fact that I hardly did anything but.

Still , I feel compelled to correct her.

« Not about …everything, Deb »

Her breath hitches, and her gaze softens infinitesimally, it spurs me on to add.

« We…I, only lied to protect you »

It was the wrong thing to say.

« TO PROTECT ME? To protect me from … from… »

Her sight has fallen to Travis once again, and then shoots right back to me.

« You were only protecting yourself »

Guilty.

« You're the Bay Harbor Butcher »

Guilty.

«My God, Doakes… You… you killed him «

Ah! Not guilty. Had to happen eventually. As one of those few people I didn't actually kill (having only locked him up in a cage for three days and then framed him for mass murder), I was somewhat glad she mentioned him, and I tried to latch on to it.

« No Deb, I didn't kill Doakes, I have a…code, of sorts, I only kill murderers »

She doesn't look like she believes me, but then again, this new Deb is hard to read, and for all I know she could perfectly fine with the whole serial killer thing.

« Right…because that's the Bay Harbor Butcher's MO… »

I hated that name then, and now that I hear it fall from her lips while she looks at me in accusation, I can't stand it.

« Please… don't call me that, I'm just … Dexter »

She looks surprised by my remark, as if she just remembered who I was. Her explosive anger seems to deflate, and she's my little sister once again.

« Why? Why would you…do _this_ »

She asks me in a small voice while gesturing to the cooling corpse between us.

_Why?_ Why do I kill?

Because my mother was cut to pieces in front of my eyes, taking my soul, along with my brothers, with her when she died.

Because Harry told me I would always be this way, and placed all of his hopes and fears in a fucked up kid.

Because someone needs to balance the books, take out the trash, cull the weeds and any other euphemism.

Because I like it and I'm good at it.

Because I _need_ to.

All of those answers go through my head in a split second, none seem adequate.

The reasononings and motivations behind my many murders, and by extension, my Dark Passenger, is a subject I know only too well, having pondered on it many times, yet all of these reasons, excuses, seem hollow to me now.

«It's just who I am, and I don't know how to be anything else »

Her muscles tighten, and she shoots back immediately.

« That's not an answer! »

She's right, it isn't. Fuck.

« I… I… »

I have no idea what to say. And then, like the proverbial gong saving the contestant at the last minute, my cell phone starts ringing.

« Motherfucking Jesus Fuck! »

The sounds of my sisters familiar swearing is comforting, and along with my cell phone, brings back a sense of normality to this surreal meeting.

I glanced down to my phone and see that it's Jamie, which, in my paranoid state , filled my mind with worry for Harrison (having just been caught killing someone by a cop, after saving him from being sacrificed on an altar by a religious fanatic earlier today, I thought the feeling perfectly rational).

« Jamie is everything okay? Did something happen? »

I ask quickly and forcefully, pressing the phone to my ear.

« What? No everything's fine here, the little guy is sound asleep, he looked exhausted »

Incomparable relief floods me instantly, my muscles uncoil, and the taste of blood finally leaves my mouth.

« Oh thank God » (I spare a thought to my choice of expletives lately and decide that this religion thing is hard to shake)

« Dexter is everything okay? I was just calling because you usually call to check up on him and you didn't tonight »

I fight the urge to laugh, but still manage to say, in a somewhat even voice.

« Yeah don't worry everything's fine »

« Good, so I'll see you in an hour then? »

At this I look up at my sister. The anger and confusion were wiped from her face, leaving only sadness. I realize that she must have remembered Harrison at the same time as I did.

The thought of my son flooded my mind with many things however, and a dangerous notion started to crawl up my spine.

A few years ago I realized that I did indeed have feelings, as weak as they were, and only for a select number of people. I subsequently realized that I would be willing to give up my life or freedom to save any of theirs. This realization filled me with great clarity and I made a list of the people important to me and their rank.

_Harrison_

_Debra_

_Astor and Cody_

_Dexter_

Which brings me back to the idea spreading through my mind, would I be willing to kill Debra if it meant protecting Harrison?

Bile rose up in my throat at the very concept, and yet… would I?

« Dexter? »

Jamie's voice brings me back inside the church.

« Actually Jamie, that might a bit difficult, I have something of a…situation, can you stay? I'll pay you double »

« Sure, of course. Boss are you sure you're okay? You sound strange »

« I'm fine Jamie, and thank you, I'll see you …tomorrow »

« All right then, see ya »

Just as she was about to hang up, I panic.

« Wait! Tell Harrison … No, never mind, goodnight Jamie »

I close my phone, and set it down next to my bloody serrated knife. I could grab it, take two short steps and …what?

Just as it happened when she was lying naked and wrapped in plastic in my old childhood home with my brother by my side, my mind comes to a screeching halt when trying to conjure up an image of me hurting her.

This is very unusual for me since I have a very active and graphic imagination for scenes of violence ( which helps tremendously in my day job, where I often imagine myself as the killer in various crime scenes). In fact I have imagined killing in great detai,l most everybody I know or knew, including Harry, nearly all of my co-workers, the entire population of my high school, my neighbours, and sometimes perfect strangers.

But not Deb, never Deb.

My hand moves away from the blade.

She's been quiet since my phone call, and now more than ever, I have no idea what she's thinking.

« Look Deb, I know that this, all of this, is just…fucked up. But I need you to know something »

It looks like I'm pulling her from her thoughts once again, but she quickly looks back at me.

« What? »

Her voice sounds broken, defeated, I don't like it.

« No matter what you decide to do, I will never harm you, you're safe with me, that hasn't changed, and I need you to believe that »

Her reaction is not one I expected, a muffled and strangled little laugh leave her lips. I feel like I'm missing something but I carry on without waiting for an answer.

« But you need to come to a decision about what's going to happen now »

The strange laugh is back, along with the broken voice.

« I can't! I.. I don't know! Okay? I don't know anything anymore… »

Hearing her sound so pitiful (sorry Deb, no other word for it), is grating, like nails on a chalkboard, and I'm hit by an urge I hardly ever get, to initiate physical contact. I want to hug her and make it stop I realize. But I can't, mostly because I'm still covered in blood.

« I mean, whether or not you're going to call this in »

« I know what you meant! Fuck! Okay… so what happens if I don't call this in ? »

Yes! The fact that she's even considering it lifts a weight from my shoulders I didn't realize was there. I know the battle is nowhere near won (I'm not even sure what I'm fighting for); but I also know that for Debra, this is a huge deviation from her own code of conduit. Of course, it probably helps that like me, her code came from Harry (although, less literally than mine) and that I've just shattered it.

« Well, I suppose, you go home, and then tomorrow we meet for a long overdue conversation »

« And what if I do decide to call this in? Huh? What happens then? »

« I already told you I would never hurt you, nor am I going to run. If you call this in now, I'll be arrested and most likely end up on death row, that's what will happen »

« Really? and how am I supposed to believe anything that comes out of your mouth? Huh? Tell me that! »

Good point, to which I have once again, no answer.

« Listen, I realize that you have no reason to trust me, but, you still need to decide, before someone hears us shouting, comes in here and takes the choice out of your hands entirely. And that doesn't mean that you can't arrest me later if you want »

Hmm. In retrospect, maybe I shouldn't have added that last part.

Nevertheless, I want to end this entire experience and go home to kiss my son goodnight, make sure he is safe. But I have a human body to dismember first. And I know in my gut that Debra can never see me do that. Neither can Harrison.

I look one long look at my sister , knowing it might be the last time I see her as a free man. As I study her I'm reminded of her sunning herself in the backyard on those long summer afternoons I always found unbearable, of her big sad eyes and endless tears at her mother's funeral (I've never really considered her my mother, nor did she see me as a son I believe), and again after Harry's death, of her wide smile and outrageous curse words when she was just a rookie in uniform.

I realize I won't be angry with her if she does decide to turn me in.

I also realize, that despite myself , my Dark Passenger, and all that Harry taught me, she had wormed her way into my psyche by sheer presence.

Debra had always simply been _there_. Often annoying and aggravating, yes, but just _there_.

Maybe that's what she always meant when she's babbling about a great brother I am for being _there _and how she loves me.

Huh. In that strange moment, a thought crystallizes, in a way strangely reminiscent of Harrison's birth, I am indeed capable of love.

I smile.

« So? What's it going to be? »

So, there is Chapter 2.

Reviews are always appreciated, along with any grammatical corrections you might have, since English isn't my mother-tongue.

Thanks in particular to KrisEleven for being my first reviewer ever. ;)


	3. Chapter 3

« I…. FUCK! I can't do it you fucking son of a bitch, and you fucking know it! » she screams while pointing a wild accusing finger at me.

And just like that, Dexter is back. For it was not relief that I felt at hearing her words but simply the return of my facade. While it did feel good to know my sister wasn't going to turn me in, its effect on me was to snap me out of the haze and trance-like state I had been in since she had found me. I now recognized it as a very particular frame of mind that overtook me in the few moments after I ended a life. It was a time of glorious peace and violence, clarity and ecstasy that lasted but a few seconds but seemed eternal, it was what my Dark Passenger hungered and longed for with every breath.

It was also a time of raw honesty, mainly for my playmates of course, finally confronted with their darkest deeds and secrets in the harsh fluorescent lighting, but also for me. For, while I'm exposing their own demons, so does my own come to light.

Which is probably why every truly honest exchange I've ever had was while standing over a dead body.

Only a very select few had been present for these moments over the years, namely Doakes, Miguel, and Lumen. While every time had been different, they had all left their mark, and I could remember the scenes and words with perfect detail.

So it was with Debra, now that the moment had passed.

Only now that my enlightened certainty was gone, I was left with nothing but a traumatized (and therefore highly unstable ) Miami Metro police lieutenant in possession of my greatest, and most illegal, secret, and the corpse of the most wanted man in town. The entire situation sent my long-honed, and recently reawakened survival instinct haywire. The first thing I took notice of, like any good predator, were the threats. I assessed them quickly. The first and immediate threat was Debra, my mind quickly formulated scenarios for dealing with her and discarded them in an instant, still leery of harming her. However, she could very well be in shock, in which case I'll have no choice but to M99 her and deal with the fallout later.

I gave my sister a quick glance and found her in the same position, still hyperventilating. Maybe she'll pass out and actually save me the trouble.

Seeing as how she isn't about to do anything right this instant, I dismiss her and turn my attention to my further infringements of the code. Namely, the now cold cadaver in the centre of the room.

I look at my workspace and find that it's a mess, not as messy as it can get of course, but still. The blood still slowly draining from Travis's corpse now covered almost the entire length of the plastic sheeting, and the man himself well…

I've usually cut and dismembered the body by the time this happens, the different smells and bodily fluids start mixing together, the face becomes twisted because of rigor mortis, and the skin is now pallid with strange patches of colours. While I'm more than familiar with the process of decomposition a human body goes through, my playmates are usually spared the fate of ever looking so _undignified_. Still, Travis, The Doomsday Killer, had threatened the life of my son, and tried to kill almost everyone I know (including myself), he deserved this final humiliation.

But it was over now, and I _needed_ to make him disappear, I felt unclean and exposed having him displayed where any could walk in.

The time for introspection and uncertainty was done, I needed to get Debra out of here either physically or mentally before I could sterilize this entire place and wash my hands of Travis Marshall once and for all.

I looked back at Debra and walked towards her slowly and with my hands up to show I meant no harm, I had a syringe of animal tranquilizer in my back pocket.

« Thank you Deb, it means a lot to hear you say that »

And I meant it.

« Fuck you »

Okay, I can tell that she meant _that_. I ignore her.

« So, listen, I know this all a lot to…take in, and I'll explain everything but, I'm worried about Harrison, I need you to go to the apartment to watch over him, please »

« What? You want me to go and watch your son? Now? Why the fuck would I do that? »

An apt question. I brought up Harrison because I know he's the only thing that might get her out of here, for the same reasons that I want to go to him right now.

« He's your nephew, and he… had a rough afternoon, Travis Marshall kidnapped him, that altar you found was meant for him »

She interrupts me again, but this time not in anger.

« What do you mean _kidnapped? _When did this happen ? »

I can tell that she's doing her best to sound demanding and lieutenant-like once again, it's not working, she's worried for her nephew, I'm counting on it.

« Look that's not important right now, he should be safe, but I still want someone I trust to watch over him until I can get back »

« Jamey's watching him »

She responds immediately but makes no mention of the trust bit, for which I'm glad.

« Jamey's a 22 year old who's dating Masuka's intern, he needs to be with family, he's always calmer when you're there, I trust you »

I'm just plain lying by now, while Harrison does seem to like Deb as much as he likes anyone, she does not make him calmer nor would he need it, seeing as he was asleep.

« I…I can't just… leave. You might… »

I take a breath and tilt my body to the left subtly.

« Yes, I might… But I won't. I won't abandon him, nor you . »

My right hand, which is now obscured, palms my back pocket.

« What if you do? Huh? How can I know you're not just going to slip away the minute I'm not watching you? »

Three fingers wrap around the plastic body of my hypodermic needle.

« You don't, Debra. But that's not important right now, Harrison needs you. »

Come on…

« You keep saying that! But I can't just go back to your apartment and kick back with a fucking beer when I just…Look, I'm not leaving »

Shit. She's not going for it. I take a small step towards her, and slip out my needle in the same movement. It's now resting loosely against my leg, still obscured in the darkened church. I'm desperate now, and try one last time.

« You're not going to want to see what happens next Deb, that's why you have to leave »

My muscles are coiled, and I'm about to let my arm spring in a smooth movement when I hear.

« Oh «

Her expressive voice and face had once again changed at the speed of light (how does she keep doing that? ), it's enough to make me falter.

« You're going to… »

She's now looking at me with wide eyes and trembling lips, she makes me think of Astor when I gutted a fish in front of her (not my strongest father moment), she looks so innocent. I nod and secure the grip on my needle.

Suddenly in one of her customary lighting fast mood shifts, she has one hand on her mouth and the other on her knee and looks like she might throw up.

Now is the moment my Dark Passenger whispers, she's not looking at me, distracted, all I have to do is wrap an arm around her and… As I'm considering this she stops and whirls around to face me. Shit. Did she see my needle? Did I ruin it?

« Okay, I'll go… for Harrison. And just know that if you're not back in an hour, I _will _call this in, whatever the fuck this is »

She delivers this in a small but strangely clear voice.

« I… ok? »

Well, great connoisseur of the human condition I am not it seems. I have no idea why she agreed, or why now. I'm filing this as of those events that can only be surmised in one word. _Women_.

« So…will you be alright driving? I can call a cab if you'd… »

« I can fucking drive myself Dex! »

I was doubtful, she looked like she could barely walk, but I understand that she might not believe I was concerned for her safety, quite frankly I shouldn't be. If she crashes in to a pole on her way home then all of my problems are over.

At this thought I'm once again assaulted by the _condition_ that I'd contracted several years ago, and that had been slowly spreading since then, that of humanity. I blamed my brother. He had been the first to make me question the path I'd been on, the solitary and safe path Harry had set out for me.

Nevertheless I was worried for the wellbeing of the person who may yet send me to jail for life (probably a short one, this is Florida after all). I saw this kind of absurdity as a sure sign that I was becoming more human. This was probably the reason why I always thought them so stupid.

« Okay then so… see you at home? »

She looks at me with incredulity, then just nods. I'm sympathetic, after all what can one really say when confronted with the fact that your brother wants you to leave the room so that he can dismember someone.

« Right… »

She picks herself up and turns to go.

That's it she's really leaving, without shooting me, or herself, calling the police, or have some form of complete breakdown. I can scarcely believe it. If I found _her _stabbing someone in the heart in an abandoned church I certainly wouldn't just leave without an explanation.

Of course, the question remains, where is she going?

To the apartment like she said? To the station? To Quinn's? To a bar? To kill herself?

My once again calm, and relatively rational mind has nothing to offer.

I have no idea.

My Dark Passenger, ever helpful, chooses this moment to remind me that as soon as she is out the door, I have officially lost control of this entire situation. I could still M99 her like I planned he whispered, I couldn't trust her he insisted, this was a horrible mistake he roared.

She stops and looks back at me.

Shit. Did I say that out loud? No, she has something more to say.

« You have one hour , if you're not back to the apartment by then…»

That's too short, I calculate immediately, I won't have time to go the boat, I'll have to hide the waste somewhere until I can take it out. I think about asking for more time, leaving a job half-finished, especially now, makes me uneasy. However, I doubt my sister would be too receptive to the logistical problems of the disposition of a murder victim. So I agree.

« I'll be there Debra, and we'll talk, I'll tell you everything I promise »

I probably won't tell her everything.

« Just promise me one thing in return, ok? That you'll just go to the apartment, with your eyes on the road, and that you won't do anything…permanent, until I can get there okay? »

I don't think she even heard me.

« Just fucking be there! I need to get out of here… »

And, after a last flash of her large doe eyes, she runs out of the church with hurried, unsure steps, stealing my breath, and something else.

Was that it? I wait a few moments to see if she comes back, but I hear a car door being slammed shut, along with the rumbling of an engine.

She's gone.

My shoulders sag, my heart beat regulates, a needle slips from my numb fingers and hits the ground.

I idly wonder if I'll ever see her again.

Without her oppressive, all consuming presence, I can think again. I'm immediately assaulted with a thousand different impulses, but I shove them all aside. There's work to be done.

I assess the church quickly. All of the doors and windows are locked, except for the one Debra unlocked coming in, I'll have to secure it before beginning. Thankfully, none of the blood or other bodily fluids had crossed my forensically safe area, this would make the cleanup easier. The corpse itself looked a little more rigid than I liked, which could prove a problem, but it was nothing a 16 inch carbon-steel bone saw couldn't solve (not many problems couldn't be solved that way, but there were a few, annoying sisters for one…).

A few minutes later, the doors are locked, I checked that my Deb's car was gone, eight heavy duty garbage bags were laid out next to me, my gleaming saw in front of me, time for waste disposal. But first.

I pick up my phone, and press speed dial 1. Home.

« Hey Dexter »

« Jamey, hope I didn't wake you »

« No, no, it's fine, I was studying for my midterms, what's up? »

« How's he? »

« I checked on him a minute ago, he was still sleeping like a log »

« Good, good. Listen, there's been a change of plans, Deb's is going to be staying at my place tonight, she's kind of upset »

« oh? Is she okay?

« Yeah, yeah, she's fine, just cop stuff. But since she's going to be there, you can just let yourself out when she arrives. And if you could give me a call once she's there… . »

« Oh, right, okay then. If you're sure? When is she gonna be there? »

« She'll be there soon. And, when she arrives, just, give her a wide berth, she could be a little upset, like I said. »

« All-righty, I'll see you tomorrow. »

« Bye Jamey, and thanks again. »

That takes care of that. Time to see to the last rites of the Doomsday Killer.

######################################

And that's it for chapter 3. Yay.

Author's note.

As a virgin to fan-fiction writing, I'm all needy and insecure, and I need constant praise and reassurance if I'm to give it up (hmmm... time to stop this anology before I take it too far).

My point being, is that instead of being all passive and marking my story as favorite (i know you do, because apparently I'm notified by email when it happens), you should review. I can tell you for a fact that ego stroking works on me (I just can't seem to let it go, sorry) and makes me write faster.

To those who did review, you guys are awesome and make me feel better about the fact that I'm alone in my room writing stuff about cutting people in pieces, so keep doing it.

Oh, and as usual, if you spot any typos, mistakes, etc... let me know so I can change it.


	4. Chapter 4

Disclaimer: I don't own anything.

37 minutes.

To dismember a human body, wrap each individual piece in plastic, separate them into their respective trash bag, clean my entire workspace, store my tools, then stuff the entire thing in the former coffin of Professor James Gellar.

A new record. As they say, it's all about the motivation. The work had been sloppy however, and I might have made a mistake, so it's convenient that Travis's blood, along with my own prints, were already in the room legitimately. As long as no one decides to open the freezer in the next 24 hours, this was one problem I could cross of the list.

I now stand in the middle of the blissfully blood-free church clad in fresh clothes. Back in my usual pastel colours, and with Travis tucked away for the time being, I feel cleaner, lighter. The process of downsizing my victims was an important one, both as a part of the code that kept me safe, but also because I found it cleansing (ironically enough); the repetitive and familiar movements always soothed me, despite being drenched in the ever invasive blood. That process usually ended in quiet contemplation on my boat, in those rare nights my mind was free from the _hunger_. Not tonight though.

I scan the decrepit place of worship one last time and find nothing amiss, I mentally review the code and the innumerable checklist that Harry made me memorize as a child, but nothing stands out. I'm satisfied. I check my watch, I only have 17 minutes left before my sister's somewhat arbitrary deadline runs out, but I know the traffic in Miami intimately and I'm positive I can make it.

Huh. I might just get out of this unscathed, all I had left to do was convince a career cop with trust issues that serial-killing is a perfectly acceptable lifestyle choice. No problem.

And yet, despite the absurdity of that statement I find myself wondering. What if I could convince her somehow? What if this could all actually turn out okay?

« It can never be _okay_ son, your sister will never accept what you are »

Startled, I turn around, and there he is, as if he'd been standing there all night (and in a very real way, he has), Harry.

Father. Liar. Teacher. Cheat. Unshakable. Pathetic. God. Devil.

« About time you showed up, after the fact, as usual »

« I'm here now son, like always »

« Yes you are, so…any fatherly words of wisdom on this one? Because I'm open to advice »

« Yes, run »

« What? »

« You heard me, you need to leave town, tonight »

« I'm not going to do that dad, you of all people should know that I would never abandon Harrison, so why would you say that? »

« You broke your promise Dex, you promised me that your sister would never find out what you are »

At this, my abnormal brain circuitry supplies fires up a few errant neurons and dredges up a twenty year old memory, as appearances of my dead foster-father were wont to do.

_« Dexter, as you'll get older, you'll have the impulse to tell your secret to someone eventually »_

_« Relax Dad, I know the code, you don't have to keep bringing it up. Besides, who am I gonna tell? »_

_« No, it's okay Dexter, I hope that maybe someday you will be able to connect with somebody, maybe even trust them »_

_« I trust you Dad »_

_« I know son, I know. But my point is, that the day may come when you may want or be forced to reveal your secrets to someone, remember that the code won't prepare you for everything »_

_« Okay… so what? »_

_« You must promise me that your sister will never be that person »_

_« Deb? Why would I want Deb, of all people, to know what I am? This is ridiculous dad… »_

_« You __**must **__promise me son! Promise me that you will never tell your sister about any of this. She can never know. You hear me? Never! »_

_« Dad, let go! I promise okay? I promise! »_

_« Good, good, you must remember this promise Dexter. »_

_« I will »_

I remember now. Still.

« Well it's not like I had much of choice _dad_, this wasn't exactly the way I had planned this evening »

I look accusingly at him. He is unfazed, as always. Yet, his expression seems slightly different than what I usually see for some reason, I can't quite put my finger on it.

« You have a choice now, you can leave, disappear, restart somewhere new, without all that's weighing you down here. »

« And I should do that because of a barely understood adolescent promise to my dead foster-father? I think I'll pass. I'm going to keep my promise to Deb, not to you. I am going to tell her everything (well, mostly everything) about me, and about you »

Feeling satisfied that I've won this argument against myself, I push Harry out of my mind and gather up my tools, give the old church a final glance, then sweep out of the room. I'm late.

I've only been in my car for five minutes, when Harry reappears. I can see him sitting silently on the passenger side, while the darkened sights of Miami flash by beside us. His face is aglow with moonlight, I can feel it on mine.

« The reason you can never tell your sister the truth is not to preserve my memory, or protect your life, son. »

« Then why? If I don't tell her anything, she'll just report me, or investigate on her own, you know that. This way at least there's a chance… »

« A chance to what Dexter? Have you thought about it? What if she does believe everything you tell her, and ultimately decides to protect you? »

« Then I'm safe…ish . Look I'm well aware of how precarious my position is here, we both know how unpredictable Deb can be… »

« You're missing the point. Have you considered what this knowledge is going to actually do to her? What she will be like after keeping your secret for a week, a month, a year? »

I slap my hand against the steering wheel, and whirl to face him as we're at a Stop sign.

« Of course I've considered it! But I simply don't have any other options. Besides, Deb is strong, she might well surprise you »

« You're not letting yourself hear the answer because you don't want to hear it son. Debra can never agree to keep your secret, because the minute she does, she'll have given up everything she believes in, and she simply won't be Debra anymore. »

« That's rather simplistic and overly dramatic »

« No it isn't. Ritualized mass murder? How can you expect a normal and rational human being to ever condone it? »

« Lumen could »

« You've never met Lumen Pierce, Dexter, at least not as her family, friends and fiancé knew her. The person you met may have had her face and name, but everything else had been ripped away from her. Do you wish Deb to endure the same kind of transformation as she did? It's the only way anyone can… »

« NO! You're right I don't want to hear it, so shut up! »

_Miguel_

_Doakes_

_Lila_

_Harry_

_Rita_

The faces of those few who learnt my secret flashed behind my eyes, along with their fates.

_Miguel,_ wrapped in plastic like all the others, his face frozen in hate and deceit.

_Doakes,_ from my angry, powerful nemesis, to a formless, putrefied, burnt slab of meat, surrounded by flies in a swamp.

_Lila, _her eyes still intense, insane, adoring, even as I took her life, after taking her sanity.

_Harry, _the mentor and father I once thought invincible and omniscient, ravaged by disease and (what I now see, in hindsight) soul crushing regret.

_Rita_, her sweet, sweet face unmarred, laying gently as if asleep, while her body was cold, and bathed in red.

I shook my head, as if to clear imaginary cobwebs.

_Lumen. _She had been my salvation. I hadn't destroyed her, I had saved her, my Dark Passenger transformed into a redemptive force of righteous vengeance.

_« _You didn't save Lumen son, she had already been destroyed. The only thing you did was give that darkness a purpose and structure, like I tried to do for you… »

My hands are gripped tightly on the steering wheel, my knuckles turning white, I turn right on Almoredo, I'm close to the apartment, six minutes left on the clock.

« But remember, once it had left her, once she had conquered it, then she couldn't be around you anymore, not after she had seen you for what you are. »

My breathing is getting heavier, a light sheen of sweat has appeared on my forehead, I recognize the street adjoining my apartment, I'm nearly there, five minutes left on the clock.

« It's human nature son, you know that. We shy away from predators, and the only way a lamb can stand in front of a lion without fear, is to become one herself. You've seen it. Is that what you want for her? You are about to destroy your sister, one way or the other… »

« ENOUGH! »

I stop the car.

I glance to my right, Harry is gazing at me with intense eyes. I glance to my left, I can see Debra's car parked in front of my apartment. Three minutes left on the clock.

Decisions, decisions.

########################################

That's it for chapter 4.

I know it's a small one but it felt right, as is.

Next chapter begins the long awaited confrontation, or does it?

I'm getting inspired for this story so more coming soon, as long I'm properly spurred on by your many reviews.

PS: Oh, and about the «», I think it might be because of the fact that my word processor is in French, I'll see what I can do.


	5. Chapter 5

Disclaimer: I don't own anything.

**HONK**

« Hey dude! Move your fucking car will ya, some of us would like to go home »

My deep philosophical thoughts about the past, the future, life, death and everything in between were rudely interrupted by a loud drunken voice coming from the white construction van I could now see was waiting behind me.

As I slid into the open parking space in front of me, conveniently twenty meters from my apartment (irony, anyone?), the words of the drunk construction worker rang in my ears, and I had a very un-philosophical thought.

« Fuck it »

I was going home. And it was not for any of the reasons I'd given Harry or told myself. There was no master-plan, no cool, methodical Dexter, not even a speech prepared for Deb. This could very well be a mistake for me, Deb, Harrison even, but I just wanted to go home. I was weary, a deep tiredness had settled over me on the car ride with the adrenalin wearing off, and all I wanted now was to _kick back with a fucking beer_, as Deb had said. And I wanted to see my son, more than anything I wanted to see him, and kiss him goodnight. After that, well… how hard could convincing a police lieutenant not to arrest the most prolific serial killer in Miami (I assumed) be?

While my thoughts had been running, so had my feet and I suddenly realized that I was on the open walkway going to my apartment door. I had walked the familiar path without realizing it. What was happening to me? I was _always _aware of my surroundings. And I was still walking. Only now I was supremely aware of everything and every step I took felt like it took forever, the whispers in the back of my mind urging me to turn back. But I didn't, and now there it was. I stopped in front of my door.

As I made to take my keys, I froze. Could I really do this? Harry's words about Deb were stuck like a song in my head, repeating over, over. _You are about to destroy your sister. _Was this my instincts telling me that I was being selfish by letting her in on the ugly truth? Could she really become infected by it?

My hand dropped.

No, I couldn't do this her. I couldn't force this choice on her.

I was about to turn around when my watch started ringing, it was the countdown I had set coming to an end. I heard a shuffle inside and before I knew it, the door was swung open abruptly, revealing an angry sister glaring at me.

« Where the fuck have you been? »

I blinked. Deb looked a lot better, she had changed into a comfortable pair of jeans (absent gun-holster I was happy to note), and a formless grey shirt. Her hair also seemed moist and she smelled faintly like my own shampoo, along with alcohol, I concluded she had taken a shower, then had a beer.

« There was traffic on Almoredo , sorry. Going to let me in? »

She took a long look at me, then grunted and jerked her head, signalling me to come inside(okay, maybe more than one beer).

As I soon as I walked in, however, I was once again stopped dead in my tracks by the sight that awaited me. It was not the fact that my once neat, clean, and perfectly arranged sanctuary looked like a tornado had went through it, that stopped me; nor was it my chest, with it's secret compartment torn out, sitting in the middle of it, plastic sheeting spilling out (I always kept a stash of it for emergencies). No, my eyes had been drawn straight to my air-conditioning unit, the secret mausoleum of so many of my playmates had been ripped apart. My gaze shifted to my coffee table, on it rested three empty bottles of beer, a badge from the Miami Police Department, a 9mm Berretta (without the safety, my keen eyesight noted), and lastly, a wooden box, containing thirty-seven slides, wide open.

Not for the first time, I wish that I had invested in a safe of some kind, despite its conspicuous nature.

I also realized that I should have left my tools in the car, for I have a feeling that Deb's going to want to see them.

Well, it's all out now anyway. I slowly lower my bag to the ground, and look back at her.

« I'm going to check on Harrison, then we can…talk »

«He's sleeping in his room, you have five minutes »

She's using her cop voice, the same she uses in interrogations. Interesting.

I nod, deciding that it was best to be congenial for now, before going to see my son.

After a few seconds, I'm in his room. I can finally see him. I take a few trembling steps towards his bed, trying to evade the various toys scattered about the darkened room, then kneel in front of him. I lightly kiss his blond hair.

Ah. The smell of blood has finally left my nostrils. I felt as if I'd just woken up from a nap in a warm bath. Clean and at peace. Absolved.

_This_, was my _heaven_. Harry, Brian, Trinity, Travis, they all believed that my darkness was absolute, that when all else fell away, I was nothing but a killer. But they were wrong, all of them. Despite all I had done, I also made this, made him, and that changes everything. Every time I saw him the same feeling reawakened in me, that of worth. I was worth something more than the pain and darkness that I'd spread because he was _my _son. The only purely good and unstained legacy I could lay claim to. The second he was born, it had become my mission in life to let him stay that way.

« It's all for you now… »

As the words fell from my lips, I realized how true they were. He was the reason I was here, about to spill my innermost and darkest secrets to the one person I promised I would never tell. Because I could never abandon him.

I get up and turn around, I see Deb watching me with intense eyes, time to face the music.

We walk back to the living room, she's walking behind me and watches my every move, possibly in an attempt to assert control and unbalance me (as per police procedures during interrogation), or maybe I was just paranoid.

« Deb, listen… »

« Sit down, and shut the fuck up _brother_, I have a few things to say first. »

Okay, not paranoid. I sit down, and watches as she sits in the couch directly in front of me. Her gun, her badge, and my blood slides were on the coffee table separating us. This was going to be _fun_.

« This is the ways this going to work. _I _ask the questions. If I think you're lying, or stalling or playing games, I'm calling this in. If I think you're trying to make a move towards your bag or the gun, I'll sh… shoot you. So don't fucking bullshit me! »

Her gaze was straight, her tone even, and her posture commending, straight from the textbook. But I knew my sister, I could see the faintest trembling in her hands, along with her jugular pulsing unnaturally fast, and I'd heard the small crack in her voice. She was hanging on by a thread.

« Okay Deb, no problem, you're in charge, where do you want to start? »

The fact was I knew that I could get to her gun before she did (being drunk and two steps away from a mental breakdown), but I was happy to let her believe otherwise.

« Let's start with this! Is this yours? What the fuck Dex? »

She's now holding my box of trophies, as if to shove them in my face. It's not the first time someone stole them, but it still left a bad taste to see them handled like this.

« Yes, those are mine »

She seems disappointed with my answer.

« And? »

« And what? That was your only question, well apart from 'what the fuck' but I assumed that was rhetorical… »

« Don't you fucking dare! Don't you dare act like this is all just…okay. Fuck! »

This why I try not to make jokes, people never really get them.

« Look, I'm sorry Deb, but this is…complicated. I think it would be easier if I just tell you, in my own words. Is that _okay_? »

« Do you think I'm an idiot? That I'm just going to sit there while you _lie _and _lie_! I know how good you are at it now »

« No I don't think you're an idiot Deb, and you're right I did, I do, lie to you, a lot. But I'm here now. I knew when I came back here, to Harrison, and… to you, that I would be placing myself in your hands, and that you would accept nothing but the truth .I'm ready to tell you everything, right here, right now, but are you ready to listen? It's not a pretty story, and it could…hurt you »

My sincerity must have shown (and I _was _sincere, mostly) because she deflated. After a moment of contemplation, she nodded.

« Talk »

Alright then, here goes nothing. The Life of Dexter. Act 1. Beginnings.

« Well I'm sure you already know most of this, but I'll start from the beginning. You need to know everything if you're to…decide. »

Neither of us had mentioned what happened after this talk. I don't think either of us had any ideao what we were going to do.

« I was born in Miami, to Joseph Driscoll and Laura Moser. I had one older brother, named… Brian. Driscoll was out of the picture pretty quickly, leaving mu…, Laura, to fend for herself and her two small children. She found a way, by getting involved in drug trafficking, working for a small Cuban cartel. However, soon enough, she turned informant and started giving information about the cartel to a cop, in an effort to get out of the life. The cop was Harry Morgan. »

I take a breath and check her reaction, she has been remarkably stoic so far, but her composure cracked a little when I mentioned Harry, she knows what's coming next.

« Harry and my mother worked together to bring down the cartel for months, and along the way, they had an affair (still no reaction). It was all going great until the cartel started getting suspicious about a rat, and had her followed. Her relationship with Harry was discovered, along with her status as an informant. The cartel decided to make an example out of her… and her children »

I pause once again. This is harder than I thought. After all, I'm hardly the emotional type, and I've long come to terms with my mother's death, and the part Harry played in it. Yet, I still fell like my stomach is weighted with lead, and I've started sweating again. In front of me, Deb is still stoic and impassive. It's a bit eerie.

« So they took her, and her two sons to the docks, and locked them in a storage container. And then… three men came in, and cut her to pieces with a chainsaw. In front of us, of me. We were then left inside of the container, in blood three inches thick. Until the police found us, three days later. Harry was the first cop on the scene. You know what happened after that. Harry took me in, and I became a Morgan, and Brian, well…you know that too »

« And twenty years later he's the Ice Truck Killer and you're the fucking Bay Harbor Butcher! I'm glad you found each other. »

« It wasn't like that Deb. All of this, I only learned of it years later. I don't remember anything other than being a Morgan, and of having you as a sister »

« I'm not your sister »

That…hurt. The connection I shared with Deb was one of the most precious things in my life. I had defined my act, my personae, based as much on her reactions, as I did on Harry's. My role as her _brother_ was something that I valued and cherished in the same way I did the role of _father _to my son.

« Maybe not, but I'm still your brother, whether you like it or not… can I continue? »

I saw her make a conscious effort to calm herself by taking deep and steady breaths.

« Go on »

« Well, this part of the story you know, I just had a different…perspective. Harry took me in, and raised me as his own, as a Morgan. And for a while there, he have must believed all was well (my eyes scan the room, no sign of him). You had just been born, and I must have looked okay »

« But you weren't? » she asks me in a small voice, absent the forceful undertones.

« No I wasn't. I can't remember the first time I noticed it, it feels like it's always been there, even though I know I must have been free of it at some point… »

« What are you talking about? »

« I'm talking about darkness Deb, about…evil. It got into me that day in the storage container. And like a virus spreading, it started small, but then grew larger, and infected everything, and soon enough it was a part of me. Like an extra limb, or a sixth sense, it was just _there_. My shadow, my… Dark Passenger. »

« I…I don't understand… »

« Yes you do. You know how killers are created. You've read police manuals, and psychology books, and profiles and accounts. I was no different, seeing something like that, so early, it…broke me. And, while I do consider myself a special case, my early years were pretty textbook »

« What do you mean? I don't remember… »

« Well you were still pretty young then, but all the usual stuff happened, animals and… »

« Buddy! I fucking knew it! You killed Buddy! And dad never believed me when I told him… »

Actually, Harry had believed her. _I found the grave son. _I chose to omit that part.

« Yes, I did kill _Buddy_, you were right. I had these… urges, that I didn't understand, and couldn't control. It went like that, until… until… »

She must already suspect, but I could I really confirm it? She idolized Harry, even more than she idolized me, this might get messy…

« Until fucking what? »

« Until Harry saved me. »

« Yes I know dad rescued you from that container but… »

« No, that's not what I mean Deb. He found out about my activities, and confronted me about them. Now, Harry had read the same textbooks that you have, and he had the wealth of experience that comes with being a cop for 20 years. And, based on that, he came to a decision. »

« And what decision was that? »

« The decision to train me, train me to lie to fit in, train me to control my urges, and…train me to be careful when I acted on them. »

« What? What the fuck are you saying, dad _trained_ you to lie? »

« Well, he knew that I had trouble with the whole…_feelings_ thing, so he taught me how to pretend, to fit in »

« The whole feelings thing? I mean, I know that you're a fucking moron sometimes Dex but…Jesus! You're a fucking sociopath? Or psychopath, or whatever the fuck! You don't feel anything at all? »

Hmm. Explaining this to Debra could get a little complex. I knew that when she asked if I felt anything at all, she was really asking if I felt anything for _her_. The answer that came to me surprised me. I did indeed have _feelings _for her, I'd always had. Whether or not, they were good, or appropriate, or healthy (or even what they actually were), I didn't know, but she had, indeed, always evoked _something_ in me (even though, that was often overshadowed by intense annoyance).

« Actually I do, they're just…dulled. And it's probably not the same thing as what you experience, but I do _feel_. I felt something for Rita and the kids, and I feel something for Harrison… and for you. »

I hear her breath hitch, as her lips part slightly. Is this a good sign? I have no idea. Where was Harry when I needed him.

« Umm, okay, so you're a freak, but I already knew that, what's _my _dad got to with this? »

Well, not a good sign then. She was probably trying to hurt me. She'd succeeded. All this talk of the past had reminded me of my school days. Days in which, freak, was a common moniker for me. To hear it coming from my Dear and Darling Debra, my staunch defender, ever since high school all the way up to Miami Metro; was not a pleasant experience.

« Well, like I said, Harry found out about my activities, and confronted me about them. And then he told me that I had darkness inside me, that it would make me want to kill, and that it would never go away »

_So, I'm going to be like this forever?_

« For a while, I was okay with just having Harry to talk to, to understand. But soon, the urges became stronger, and the fact that I was different was becoming more obvious… I was a monster, I could see in his eyes that that's what he saw when he looked at me, and yet, he still loved me, and for all I know, he was right. But still, I was becoming harder to manage, and he knew that someday he would loose any control he had over me, so he planned and came up with a…concept »

I'd been dancing around the subject like a ballerina with ten minutes and I still couldn't say it.

« Just say it! Fucking say it! »

Looks like Deb agrees, as her angry voice lets me know.

« The idea was that, if my darkness couldn't be destroyed, or controlled, it could at least be channelled. As long as it was in the right direction. And then he told me, that _some people deserve to die_ »

She scoffs and gives a harsh laugh.

« Now I know you're lying. Dad would never say that, not in a million fucking years! He was a good cop! A hero! Everyone knows that. And this is how you repay him for rescuing you? Huh? By spreading these… these…fucking lies about him! Well fuck you!»

I can tell that this was probably a well rehearsed speech in her head. She knew what I was about to tell her, she must have. She just can't face it.

« Yes he was a good cop, and a hero. But he was also an angry man, full of regrets, and longing to make a real difference. He saw his chance in me. So he started teaching me a trade, and he gave me a code, never to be broken »

« Shut up! Just the fuck up! That didn't happen… »

« Come on Deb, you remember the camping trips, the secretive meetings, my strange behaviour… »

« No I don't fucking remember! Because _I _wasn't there! »

« Debra… »

« You stole him! You stole him from me and then you…you… infected him. That's the only reason why he… This is your fault! It's all your fault! »

In a way, she was telling the truth. Had Harry not fished me out of that container, Debra probably would have been happier and healthier (and gotten a lot more attention), and Harry himself would not have committed suicide (Which is something I'm probably going to omit).

Still, hearing Deb tear into me and valiantly defend Harry, who held as much responsibility for my present state as I did, rubbed me the wrong way.

« Harry wasn't perfect Deb, and _this _is what _he _taught me! I never asked for it! » I shout, pointing my finger at my trophies.

« NO! » she roars. She then takes my box of trophies and hurls it right at the wall, shattering it.

There are few things that can make me lose my cool, carefully constructed façade, turns out, this one of them.

I see red and lunge forward grabbing her hand and pulling her towards me. In a smooth movement, I've turned her around and she now has her back pressed against my shelves, in the middle of the room. I, myself, am inches from her, my hand trapping hers above her head.

I'm so close to her, I can feel her erratic heartbeat, smell the sweat emanating from her pores, see her pupils dilate. I inch closer. I am going to kill her or ki…

CLICK

I look down to see the barrel of a 9mm pressed against my stomach.

And , there goes chapter 5.

Sorry for the delay, but I hope a longer chapter filled with actual stuff happening makes up for it.

As usual, reviews make me happy, and when I'm happy, I write.


	6. Chapter 6

Disclaimer: I don't own anything.

We were both frozen, staring straight at each other, waiting.

The scene was this. My blood slides laid scattered across the floor, intermingled with broken shards of beer bottles. The coffee table was askew, Deb's badge had fallen off and was resting against the carpet, face down. My chest was beside the couch, plastic wrap, and sheeting spilling out from my secret compartment. A strange wheezing sound could be heard coming from my broken air-conditioning unit.

As for us. We were standing mere inches apart, both breathing heavily. Deb's left hand was caught in my right one, and, along with her back and legs, was trapped between me and the grey shelves jutting out of the wall. I could see the picture I kept of Harry staring down at us from it's position right above her head. My right hand was laid flat against her burning hot skin, beads of sweat rolling down slowly from her neck. I could feel her heartbeat thumping against my own skin. It was beating like a hummingbird. We were close, very close. The only thing separating us was the cold, hard steel of the gun resting in her right hand, and pressing against my navel.

It would seem I'd been wrong, I couldn't get to the gun faster than her. The trigger was cocked, and I knew all too well the kind of damage a 9mm round did when shot at point blank range in the intestines. Despite that, however I felt no desire to take even a single step back. I was staring right at her, I could see her warm brown eyes were wide, her pupils were dilated, her lips trembling. And the rapid drumming of her heartbeat still rang in my head.

_Thump, Thump... Thump, Thump... Thump, Thump.  
><em>

Or was it mine?

I was confused, my mind a haze. The white hot burst of anger at the desecration of my hard-earned trophies had left me, being replaced with…something else. The whispers had started again, but I couldn't quite make them out.

_Thump, Thump_

My eyes left hers, trailing down to the nape of her neck, and kept going downwards, my father's judging eyes leaving my view. She shivered, and still said nothing.

_Thump, Thump_

My hand slid up, and constricted ever so slightly around her neck. The mouth of the pistol felt icy cold against my skin, and I noticed it had started trembling slightly.

_Thump, Thump_

I felt the hand I was encircling tighten in my grip, her fingers encircling mine in return. The whispers got louder, and I could almost understand them. The voice sounded slightly off for some reason.

_Thump, Thump_

Conscious thought had almost left me, my vision had sharpened, my muscles were hardened, my skin was on fire. If I could just…

_Do it brother…_

The words were whispered softly in my ear. It felt like an invitation, a plea even. The monster growled. My hands tightened their grip on her hand and neck, I could feel the blood pulsing beneath her skin, and beneath it, the muscle and sinew, protecting her brittle bones. I wanted to snap them both. I looked back to her face, and my eyes fell on her lovely unblemished cheeks. I wanted to slice them open.

A soft chuckle drew my gaze upwards, falling on the photo of Harry, behind which I see could my brother's wicked grin. He was casually leaning against my desk. He gave me a Cheshire grin.

'Do it brother'

I froze.

'NO!'

My fingers went slack, and I let her body slip from my grasp, as I stumbled away from her.

I had almost killed my sister, for the second time in one night, I was probably out for the Brother of the Year Award.

This time had been different though, logic and self-preservation hadn't even crossed my mind, I'd had no control. It felt as though it had been Brian choking Debra, while I was the one watching impotently from the sidelines. I could almost believe it even, were it not for the beat still drumming in my ears, and the tears falling from her eyes.

Oh, and the gun was now aimed between my eyes.

'Wait! Deb, I'm sorry! Please just calm down'

'Back off! Just… back the fuck off, okay? '

I took a few steps back, and tried to bring back the cool and collected Dexter. I had no idea where my reaction had come from, and the thought that a part of me might hurt Debra frightened me, as did the reappearance of my long buried brother. I could ill afford to let the situation slip even further from a grasp. I felt like a funambulist walking on a wire that might snap at any momen, except in my case the wire had a gun, and an explosive temper.

'Okay, okay, no problem. You're in charge Deb. I wasn't trying to escape or…kill you, or anything like that, please believe me. I just get…sensitive about certain things, that box being one of them, and I just reacted. I really am sorry.'

I had tried to go for soothing, but I'd never been very good at comforting crying women, especially when I've just tried to kill them, no matter how involuntarily; so I doubted I'd done much good. The berretta was trembling yet still firmly pointed in my general direction, her stance was unsteady, and as for her eyes…I could only bring myself to meet them for an instant, before shame pulled my gaze upwards, but they were wide, wet and accusing.

'You know, this the first time you've ever reminded me of him?

'What? Who ?'

I already knew.

'After I found out I kept looking for similarities between the two of you, anything, and I just find couldn't any. To me, you were as different as two people could ever be'

'Deb…'

'But when you looked at me just now, it's like you'd disappeared, and all I could see was _him_, your brother, _Brian_'

She spat the word with a level scorn reserved for women whose fiancée tried to murder them, and for the umpteenth time this evening, I was at a loss for a response. What could I really say? She was right, in fact she was showing excellent instincts in comparing me to my brother in this moment.

'I am sorry you know, for him. Sorry for what he did to you, and for what I had to do to him.'

I am not above subtly reminding her that she owes me her life.

'The Ice Truck Killer killed himself' she stubbornly denies, yet her face betrays her surprise.

'You know very well that he would have never taken his own life. But tonight's not about him, it's about you. You can't keep averting your eyes to avoid anything that doesn't fit what you want the world to be Debra, that's over now. You've opened the door, so I ask again, are you ready to hear the truth? Because it doesn't get any better, or less frightening'

'I'm not scared you fuckwad'

'Then lower the gun, and let's go back to our discussion'

I gave her a once over. She was still breathing heavily and appeared flushed, but her hands were steady. Only her face revealed her inner turmoil, her tears had dried, yet their tracks could still be seen staining her cheeks.

I desperately wanted to know what it was that she was feeling so strongly in this moment. Was it fear, anger, hate, love? It frustrated me that I couldn't tell. Deb had always seemed to feel things stronger than anybody else, and it often left me baffled, yet perversely fascinated. I used to study her behavior in an effort to emulate her when I was child. I can remember watching her face intensely when she couldn't see me, in an effort to understand those strange forces than seemed to rule everyone's actions, and Deb's most of all. I never did divine an answer, but it was a habit I never really gave up.

Even now that I understood them, at least intellectually, other people's expressions of feelings and humanity still left me uncomfortable and slightly disgusted. I simply failed to understand how they could let so much of their lives be dictated by these urges over which they seemed to have little control. The parallel to my own situation was apparent to me, of course, but so were the differences. For, while my Dark Passenger did enslave me to my own dark urges, it also freed me from the naturally occurring constraints placed on humanity, such as a conscience, or the fear of death. I had often wondered about the kind of person I would have become, had my mother not been murdered, baptizing me in blood. The answer was obvious and left me uneasy, I would have been normal, ordinary, mediocre even. And, while I had enough perspective, as an outsider, to appreciate the value in those things, the thought of me actually being one of the many always left a bad taste in my mouth.

And then, as always, there was Deb. Her reactions to this entire night seemed slightly off-key for some reason I couldn't fathom.

'Twenty-seven'

Jolted out of my reminiscing, I could see that my sister had finally lowered her gun. In fact, her whole posture had changed from angry and commanding, to weak and submissive. I hated it.

'What?'

I studied her more closely and found that her head was not hung low as a gesture of despair or submission, she was only focusing on my discarded trophies lying haphazardly across the room.

'I counted them. They were twenty-seven. And it's not even close to the actual number isn't it?'

No it wasn't. And I had really been hoping that this conservation and my sister's attention would slide over my many former victims. I didn't want her to feel pity for any of them, they didn't deserve it and I selfishly wanted her focus to be on me.

I sighed.

'No. But let's not get into that right now, can I finish my story? And, please, I know that this is a hard subject, but you're a good cop with good instincts, so I think you know that I'm telling the truth about Harry…'

She scoffs.

'I'm supposed to trust my instincts? About you? After what just happened? And what about your instincts huh?

What the hell was that just now?

'I don't know Deb! Okay? I just…don't know. I realize that you're angry and confused and probably a lot of other things right now, but bear in mind that speaking of my past, is not an easy thing for me to do. So you'll excuse me for being slightly high-strung at the moment. Now could you put the gun away? I'm not all that comfortable with you waving a loaded weapon around while my son sleeps in the next room.'

The comment hits her like I knew it would, and once again concern for her nephew overrode her fear of me. The reptilian part of my brain noticed her flicking the safety on immediately, and uncoiled, the threat lessened. I could see the same assessment of danger being reflected in her eyes, and I knew that the gun would be staying in her hand for the same being. She was finally seeing me for what I was, a predator, ready to pounce at any moment (well, mostly), yet she still sat back down on the couch and gestured for me to resume my place, all without a word.

I was caught in her gaze as soon as I sat down, and was momentarily unbalanced. Flashes of hot skin, flushed cheeks, and long shapely legs kept flitting through my mind, and I could still hear the ever persistent drum of her heart. I cleared my thoughts and focused on her unblinking eyes. Something had shifted from a mere ten minutes ago, but I wasn't sure what it was, nor was I sure if I truly wanted to find out.

'Can I continue?' I asked

I took her silence as assent, and proceeded with my tale. We had reached the second act, Training.

'So… Harry had taken me under his wing, and started teaching me.'

'What?'

I looked up, my eyes questioning.

'What did he teach you? I want to know, about all of it, about what he was doing that prevented him from watching his daughter grow up.'

That was probably the bitterest thing I'd ever heard her say about our father. It seemed Olympus had finally fallen, taking the deity known as Harry with it. Good for her.

'Okay, well the…vigilante idea, only came later, I'm not sure if he'd been planning it all along, or if it really occurred to him as I grew more restless, and he grew more bitter, but I like to think it was the latter. Anyway, at first it wasn't about killing, but more about fitting in. He taught me about people, about their reactions and expectations, and how to avoid getting noticed. And then he taught me how to pretend. Pretend to be happy. Pretend to be sad. Pretend to be normal. It was all about hiding who I really was, and burying it as deep as possible.'

I checked her reaction and found her to be the picture of stoicism; she was most likely emotionally numb due to repeated shocks.

'Of course, that kind of darkness just doesn't stay buried, and soon enough it was invading my nights, filling my dreams with blood, and my days, filling them with anger and boredom. And no matter how much I lied and pretended, the feelings never came, and the urges kept getting stronger'

'What kind of…urges?'

'The kind that a teenage boy is _not _supposed to have. Girls were of no interest to me, neither were friends, or school. Their exact nature is difficult to describe, or understand without having had certain…experiences, but suffice to say, they drove me towards violence, control, and death.'

'_Certain experiences?_ What, you think I haven't suffered enough in my life to understand anything about yours?'

'It's not about that Deb. You _have_ suffered, and I'm sure that you understand pain and anger as well as anyone. But you've never had every fiber of your being shattered and torn away from you in an instant. _That_ kind of experience forces someone to rebuild themselves, so to speak, and it always leaves something dark and unshakable inside them. So no, Deb, you can't understand, and you should be extremely thankful for that, I wouldn't wish this on anyone, you least of all! (after Harrisson, my subconscious supplied, he was the one I wished could avoid my fate the most, I would give my life for it).'

My outburst seemed to have assuaged my sister's temper, that I had felt brewing.

'I really don't know you at all, do I? And to think that a few hours ago I thought I knew you better than anyone, I thought that I was in…'

Her sentence died in a sort of tearless half-choked out sob that made me uncomfortable. I once again felt like I was missing something, Deb's reaction seemed off, somehow. Given the situation, that was hardly surprising of course, but this entire evening seemed to be veering off in a peculiar direction, this felt a lot more…intimate, than I had expected. There was a strange sort of tension between us, one I couldn't quite identify.

Added to that, was the fact that my own violent reaction earlier in the evening was very uncharacteristic of me (well, mostly), and had led to the reappearance of my blood- brother, which was never a good sign. I pointedly ignored the images of trembling lips and large doe eyes that were still dancing in my brain.

Very slowly, I rose from my seated position and knelt a few feet in front of her.

'Are you okay?'

Her eyes were intense and seemed to be trying to communicate something, as usual I didn't get it, but it did make my heart beat faster for some reason (strange cardiovascular reactions was another sign of humanity, I knew).

'No I'm not fucking okay _Dexter_. What happened next?'

Her voice was brittle, and uncertain, but if she wanted to continue on down the rabbit hole, I wasn't going to stop her, in fact I was the one leading her there.

'Next? Next, Harry taught me the code that I've adhered to for over twenty years and the code that set me on the path I am today'

'A code for what?'

I smiled a grim smile.

'A code for murder'

* * *

><p>Author's note: Hello faithful readers. It's my pleasure to announce that I have not in fact been run over by a bus, and will continue to grace you with my twisted imagination.<p>

Apologies for the very long delay, but I was busy with college applications and generally being lazy and unreliable.

As usual, as a fledgling author, I seek approval and praise wherever I can find it, so give it to me and I'll be happy.

Oh, and if I suck, then you can tell me too, it'll make me grow as a person.


	7. Chapter 7

Hello readers. I'm recently returned to the wonderful world of fanfiction with a new story (embracing the cliché, it's a Harry Potter story), and I figured it was only fair I was update my old one. Dexter needs lovin' too after all. So here's a new quick chapter.

Disclaimer : I don't own anything

"A code for murder"

And that was it. Four words and a dead body were all it took to undo twenty years of the careful training, manipulation and handling that we call being a parent (once again, while that statement could most literally describe my own upbringing, I was coming to realize that Deb had her own conditioning to overcome, as did everyone else). By confirming for her that Harry was, and always had been, the root of all my evil (or was it the good? I didn't know anymore), I had just killed him in her eyes. I could almost hear the sound of the carbon steel saw cutting through bone, with that grinding noise I always found so soothing during those long nights. Because, an absentee father that spent all of his time focused on the noble pursuit of fighting evil was one thing, but one whose time was spent growing and teaching his very own killer was quite another. Deb's way of making sense of our father's behavior had been to convince herself that police work, and protecting the innocent from the monsters in the dark, really was more important than family, or a personal life. A mantra that she had started to emulate in earnest ever since her induction as Lieutenant. Of course she was now realizing that the monsters hadn't been in the dark, they'd been sitting right next to her at the dinner table, and Harry hadn't been out _fighting _evil, he'd been out _creating_ it.

"He really did it, didn't he? He fucking did it…" she whispers in a scornful tone.

Finally! At last she can she him for he what was, in all his splendor and all of his sins, the same way I did in that cabin, deep in the everglades. With this revelation, it seems as if a weight has been lifted from my shoulders, for, after my enlightenment about the fallibility of our father, it had irked me to see Deb continue to pay homage at his altar. I had selfishly wanted to tell her every one of his sins, adulterer, liar, and ultimately, coward, in an effort to shift some more of her devotion unto me, but of course since _I _was the most unholy of them all, I could not. Still, it felt good to see the old man knocked down a peg or two.

"Yes, he really did Deb. He taught me how to spot them, how to track them, and how to take them out. But most importantly, he taught me how to not get caught. That's what this was all about Deb; he _knew_ that one day my Dark Passenger would overwhelm me and that I would do something impulsive. I remember the day he told me I was a killer, it was like he could see my entire life stretched out in front of me, and he knew very well where it was leading and where it was going to end. That's why he created the code, it was a way for me to act on my urges without hurting innocents."

I looked up from my reminiscing and found her staring straight at me, her eyes still wet with unshed tears.

"How?" she asked in a small voice.

"What? How what?"

"How did he _know _that you couldn't have turned out differently? That all you could be was a killer? How do _you _know?" she exclaimed while steadily raising her voice. With her being so close, it feels like her voice is reverberating through my head. I reel back slightly.

"I…I don't know, it was Harry, you remember, when he said something, then that's the way it was. And it just…made sense. I knew I was different from other kids, from _you_. When Harry told me I was a monster, it just rang true, that's all."

She had taken me by surprise once again, I had thought she would want to linger on my hunting trips with Harry, and the way he taught me how to shoot and quarter an animal, along with his long talks about abstract concepts like control, and love; interjected with exhilaratingly concrete moments where he would instruct me in police and forensic procedures. Those were memories I now had no trouble sharing, I felt she deserved to know about the hidden parts of her father along with brother's, and most of them were good memories (which was, of course like many things, a matter of perspective).

"Dad told you that you were a monster? How could he do that?" she exclaims in a shocked tone. I didn't understand her outburst, had she not seen me kill someone just a few hours ago?

"Well not in so many words, but he could see the monster that was _inside _me, and it's the same difference really. What does that matter? I'm sure you've had some unflattering thoughts about me too in the last few hours. I've long accepted what I am Deb, I'm trying to help _you_ accept it."

"What does that matter?! Look, I don't know just what the fuck you are _now_, but I do know that you couldn't have been a killer _then_! Whatever fucked up thoughts you might have had didn't make you a monster, you're not a fucking killer until you actually kill someone Dex! There is no fucking Dark Passenger! I…I just don't understand how Dad could have told you that…"

Well, that was something I hadn't expected, but really I should have. Deb as a regular and, mostly well-adjusted individual, just couldn't fathom an entity as all-consuming and powerful as the Dark Passenger, and so couldn't understand how some events could lock someone's fate as tightly as genetics. This was normal of course, the few others I've shared it with couldn't understand it either, Lila had likened it to drug compulsion, a simple pursuit of immediate pleasure, before she understood its true nature. She'd been wrong of course, this wasn't an addiction, a need issued from an imbalance in neuro-receptors, this was simply the natural instincts of a different species, which of course seemed alien and unnatural to its prey.

I wanted to dismiss the naïve plea from my mind instantly like I did before, but here, right in front of _her_, where I could sense the heat from her skin, was invaded by her scent, and couldn't hide behind my mask anymore, a notion crept up my spine, seemingly for the first time.

What if she _was _right? What if they'd _all _been right? And what if Harry had been wrong? What if _I_'d been wrong? What if all these years, there had been no Dark Passenger, no epic force pushing me towards the darkness, no great monster hiding in the dark pulling the strings? What if all I'd ever been was a fucked-up kid turned into a fucked-up man who did horrible things during the night, and lied to himself during the day?

I could feel eyes on the back of my head and knew that if I turned around I would see Harry there to reassure me that I hadn't imagined it all, but I didn't turn around, because…what if there was nobody there?

I was saved from going further down that train of thought by my sister moving to stand up. I moved back from my still kneeling position in front of her and she proceeded to pace, as if to clear her thoughts.

I lamented the loss of her close presence for a half-second, before making a desperate bid to clear my head, and finally succeeding in ridding myself of the doubt that had been dripping down my brain. Free of her scrutiny I could think rationally again, and quickly asserted to myself that of course the Dark Passenger was real, and that this "episode" had merely been a brief bout of insanity. Something that my sister seemed quite adept at provoking. What was she doing to me? I had come here this evening in an effort to gain control of a chaotic situation, but I seemed to be doing nothing _but_ losing control. As if to prove point, her flushed cheeks danced popped in my head.

"Who knows? Maybe you're right and dad was wrong, it's all a moot point now anyway, I _am_ a killer Debra" I lied in an effort to be congenial, and to get her to drop the uncomfortable subject.

She seemed like she was about to argue my point for a moment before she latched on to another subject.

"Yeah, I guess you are… So, when did you start? Who was your first victim?" she demanded, the "when did you stop being the brother I loved?" was left unsaid, but its weight could be heard in the silence.

Ah. So we had glossed over the Training Act, and went to straight to the next one: First Kill. I decided I would indulge her, though I sincerely hoped she didn't ask me to describe _all_ of my kills. Not only would that take a while (a long while, I thought, half-prideful and half-shameful), but I also doubted she would really want to hear it. I was actually a little surprise she asked me that so casually. Still, I drudged up the fond (if messy) memory of my first kill. Ah, to be young again…

_I was sweating. Those plastic coveralls that Harry had insisted on during my training might be forensically safe but they sure as hell weren't comfortable, I was really going to have to think of something better. I looked at her scrapbook again, and once again remarked how similar it was to the ones I kept beneath my bed as a teenager, minus all the flowery arrangements and pastel colors of course, and for the first time realized the sheer enormity of what I was about to do. It wasn't about the necessity or even the morality of the deed, with Harry's life threatened I had both on my side, and besides, this is what I had been waiting for. No, I had just understood the philosophical, maybe even metaphysical impact of what I was here to do, end a life. As I looked at her scrapbook filled with her sins splashed in black and white, I thought back to the long nights I poured over my own secret notebooks and how I longed to one day have my own work displayed to the public in tiny columns, and I recognized that Margaret Smithson (for that was her name), born in Miami was just like me. Her mind was a universe in itself, an ever changing maelstrom of creation and destruction that to her seemed absolute, she'd had a million feelings and a billion thoughts, lived entire lives in her head. I had of course understood in a purely intellectual manner, although he had never really spent time thinking about it, that my mind was the same as any other (at least in its most basic form) but I'd never actually felt it. It was an understanding of sameness, the first step towards empathy. In that moment I understood that to take life was not just the exciting and intoxicating violence I'd waited my entire life for, it was also extinguishing a vast collection of memories and feelings and destroying the chance for any other to be created. It stole my breath away. Because the sense of grandiose I now associated with any human life (I imagined that this feeling compounded by a thousand equaled the natural empathy regular people felt for their fellow man), was compounded by the fact that I was about to take one. The feeling grew. This had ceased to be shameful in my mind, it no longer felt like it should be done in the dark. This wasn't some back-alley brawl where a knife is shoved in a gut by shaky and desperate hands, this was a glorious act. It was choice. Pure, unadulterated and perfectly controlled free will. Freedom and control united. Perfection. The door opened…_

Okay, so maybe I wouldn't tell her all of _that_. Just the basics should be enough.

"Actually you might remember her, it was dad's nurse from when he was in the hospital that first time"

Deb had the reaction that I really should have anticipated.

"What?!" she screamed while recoiling away from me.

Yeah, in retrospect I really should have guessed that admitting that my first playmate had been both a woman _and_ a nurse, would have ended badly. Well live and learn as they say.

CLICK

Or maybe not.

You know what to do.


End file.
